


what blooms like heather in the sun

by Sovin



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Getting Together, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 22:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16004333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sovin/pseuds/Sovin
Summary: In the wake of saving the world, Phi and Terry find they've room for more than one another in their hearts, and Quil falls in love the way she falls into the surety of having a home.





	what blooms like heather in the sun

**Author's Note:**

> A post-canon soft, sweet romance for my group's first campaign. It's about some hurt and damaged people continuing to find love and surety in one another, and all the people who make home what it is. Please feel free to read a [serious](https://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/The_Campaign_of_Five_Dragons/profile) or a [ version of the campaign summary at the links! You can find our campaign tumblr ](https://www.campaign-of-five-dragons.tumblr.com/post/172259498529/are-you-a-fan-of-taz-critical-role-or-other-dd)[here](https://www.campaign-of-five-dragons.tumblr.com/) or my personal account [here!](https://www.sovinly.tumblr.com)

“ ‘Morning,” Terry says, lifting a hand in greeting as Quil sleepily shuffles out from the spare bedroom. “Coffee?”

“Yes please,” Quil mumbles, dropping down into one of the chairs, and she gratefully accepts the cup he passes her.

Phi snorts with the amusement of someone who naturally wakes up when it’s still dark out. She’s sprawled out in one of the other chairs, nursing her own mug of coffee. Someone is undoubtedly cooking something down in the kitchen, but there’s bread toasting over the low morning fire and butter on the table.

“Sleep okay?” Phi asks, warm and friendly, all her unruly brown hair pulled up in a loose and messy bun to keep it away from her face.

Quil hums an agreement as she takes a sip of coffee, warm and delicious. She savors its heat in her hands, hot even through the ceramic, and is glad for the luxury of lazy mornings. “And you?”

“Just fine, thanks,” she says, and flashes Quil a grin before she leans down to pull the toast from the fire.

Terry takes advantage of Phi’s distraction to slip the cat, seated on the chair that would be his if he weren’t standing, a sliver of smoked lamb. He catches Quil’s eyes on him and winks, grinning shamelessly.

Phi obviously notices anyway, rolling her eyes at Quil but looking fond about the whole thing, and pushes a plate of toasted bread toward her. She pointedly takes a few slices of smoked meat for herself before nudging that plate toward Quil, too, and Terry just laughs, leaning against the wall.

It’s charming, seeing them together, being let in on their affection for one another. Quil never feels awkward, more like she’s being let in on the joke, and that makes her feel very fond, too.

She butters her toast and takes some of the lamb for good measure, because it’s good and dinner was far too long ago. Hot, fresh food isn’t always something they had on their travels, and Quil imagines it will be another year or two before she even begins to take meals for granted again.

“You’re a terror and don’t think I don’t know you like Quil better than you like me,” Terry tells Phi, topping off all of their mugs of coffee and kissing her forehead before he sits down, absently and gently setting the cat down on the floor.

“I could say the same to you,” Phi drawls, but her hand lingers fondly on Terry’s arm for a moment, her fingertips just brushing the black jet of his marriage-bracelet.

Quil hides her smile in her cup, amused.

It’s a nice morning routine, comfortable and familiar, moreso than she would have thought when she first stayed the night. Her rooms are only a floor away, but they’d all been rather terribly drunk that night and they _did_ have an extra bed – it’s not the fanciest suite in the hold, but Quil thinks Phi was probably rather merciless in claiming it for the privacy. It’s rather homey, too, even with Phi’s swords hung in their scabbards by the door, Terry’s favored axe and crossbow and even Quil’s staff dwarfed in comparison.

Quil blinks, tail lashing a moment before she curls it around her ankle, careful not to give away more than that. It’s not that Quil spends every night here, but at least one or two of the week, and she knows these rooms and their routine, and it’s so very easy to spend time with them, because Cordelia is often away and Kithri and Valira are distracted, and Phi is solid and dependable and Terry is cheerful and kind, and she likes them both quite a bit.

Oh, Quil thinks. _Oh._

\--

Quil waits until the sun is fully up before she goes to visit her bees, checking in on them fondly.

That done, she falls backward into the meadow, staring up at the vast sky dotted with clouds. The wind is soothing as it brushes through the plants, and the bees hum quietly as they drift around her, occasionally landing on her arms or horns to rest a while, an honor that Quil will never forget to treasure.

She breathes in and then out, very deliberately, and closes her eyes.

It’s… not the worst thing, she supposes, though Quil suspects her life would be easier if she could set her emotions ablaze.

At least now is better than any time in the years before – though perhaps that fact that it _has_ changed so much is a little terrifying all on its own. Now, though, Seath is dead and Lloth has centuries to wait before she can manifest on the Prime Material Plane again. Now, Quil has her soul back, and Cordelia and her mother too, and things are… stable.

There’s no real barrier to having crushes, now. And Quil has the _worst_ crush, the worst because they’re both _married_ and to _one another_ , and she is _hopeless_.

She groans, covering her face with her hands, though she’s careful of the bee dozing on her forehead.

Quil vaguely thinks that crushes are supposed to feel bright and bubbly, like light glowing from under her skin and wonder. This is deeper, warmer, like embers and campfires and dawn golden on the waves, and Quil has no idea what to do with this.

\--

There is very little like realizing that the person you happen to be crushing on has probably just noticed that infatuation.

Or, at least, Phi is fairly certain that Quil has noticed, given her slightly abrupt departure the other day and relatively large amount of time spent out in the fields with her bees since. Or Quil has realized _she_ has feelings, which could be… fantastic, really, but Phi is reluctant to count on it.

Phi huffs out a frustrated sound and buries her face in against the cat, since Mrs. Whiskers has deigned to sit with her today. “What do we do now?”

Terry, considerate as he is, has the grace not to laugh at her, just rocks his shoulder against hers. “Same thing as last time we had this discussion, I think. Let things settle, and if it seems like she’s interested, we ask.”

The familiar temptation to shrug it off, to neatly deflect the issue with a charming grin and a laugh, rises up, but Phi looks over at her husband and just sighs instead. The insecurity doesn’t move, still lodged in her chest like an arrow. “You seem unfairly untroubled about this whole thing.”

“Well, this is different,” Terry replies, tangling his fingers in the ends of her ponytail. His gaze is soft and warm and steady, and Phi breathes a little easier for it. “With us, I knew a lot of the context from Lanra and from Jo, and you just swept me right off my feet without needing more than a handful of words. We’ve had more time to get to know Quil and we’ve got the whole dynamic established, and even if she isn’t interested in us that way, I know us all well enough to say we’ll still be excellent friends. But feeling this way isn’t as new for me as it is for you.”

He’s right, and Phi knows it. She just doesn’t know what to do with the aching mess of hope and anxiety and soft fond wanting that sits knotted in her chest these days.

She doesn’t say anything more, just drops her face in against the cat again with a muffled grumble, and smiles despite herself when it makes Terry chuckle.

\--

Summer sits warm on the hills, and the heather is in full bloom around them, so it’s not surprising that when Cordelia and the other girls drop by, they all gather in the orchards.

Valira and Trilli are trying to teach the others some kind of game from their home, stubbornly roping even Ewhoza into it. It seems to involve a great deal of running around and kicking a ball, which Cordelia, perhaps unsurprisingly, seems to excel at.

Normally, Terry would be in the thick of things, but he’s content to watch today, sitting on a sloping hill under the shade of a tall, branching tree and keeping an eye on the impressive pile of everyone’s weapons, even Star’s flail, reluctantly left behind with a faintly suspicious glance. It’s good to hear the bursts of laughter and cries of exaltation, even the surprised yelps Wynne lets out every time she trips over nothing and lands on her palms.

As the game moves back towards the other end of the field, Quil splits off and jogs up to where he’s sitting. She’s a little flushed and winded as she drops down beside him with a careful sweep of her robes.

Quil exhales hard, reaching up to twist her dark ashy hair away from her neck and back from her face, and gives Terry a tired smile. “Goodness. I think I’ll have to call it a day.”

“Were my dainty blushes and coy glances distracting you too much?” Terry asks her teasingly, cocking a brow.

That gets a startled snort from Quil even as she blushes. Her eyes go a little startled and she automatically glances back towards Phi, lingering just within hearing range, but Phi just winks at her before taking off down the lawn, all long legs and grace.

Quil turns an even darker shade of red at that, and Terry can sympathize entirely. Phi’s winks are _devastating_.

“Oh, yes,” Quil replies dryly, not quite flirtatious but not a deflection either, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Nothing to do with being a spindly sorceress among a bunch of well-muscled athletic people at all.”

“Ah, no, you’re too robust for that,” Terry agrees, and offers her a flask of water. Their hands brush as Quil accepts it, and he suddenly feels rather like blushing himself.

\--

Quil is now relatively sure that Phi and Terry have been flirting with her. She thinks she’s been flirting back, though in all honesty, Quil isn’t entirely sure she knows _how_ to flirt, finds it ironic that she can walk between planes with a simple touch of will but can’t quite figure out how not to stumble over her tongue.

She considers it carefully all through Cordelia’s visit, tries to let herself process it while Tesni asks her quiet questions about the arcane and a very transparent Trilli asks about Cordelia’s favorite plants. And when they go off again into the sunrise, Quil is still wavering about her own feelings.

There’s a little comfort in knowing that this would be a strange situation even for someone who’s had more _time_ for these things than she has, but it’s a very bare comfort. Quil feels awkward about it even as she wanders out into the gardens to look for Valira, because Valira is going to visit the carnivorous sheep tomorrow and so Quil can avoid her if this all goes pear-shaped.

Valira, always an early riser, has found a seat in a flowerbed and is running her hands through some chamomile, brow furrowed in fierce concentration but eyes calm and quiet as she works.

Quil smiles to see it and takes a seat on a stone bench while she waits, petting the bees that drift over to sit on her knees and soaking in the calm.

“Wanted company?” Valira asks at length, brushing the dirt from her hands but not rising from her seat. The corner of her mouth twitches up in the hint of a smile, so at least Quil knows she isn’t an unwelcome interruption.

“I had a question,” Quil says, and tries not to fidget with her skirt. She’s remarkably glad she never had time for romance and feelings before, because she’s certain her magic would have gone slippery and haywire. “If people are flirting with you, it’s alright to flirt back, right?”

Valira snorts and gives Quil a very flat look. “Generally, yes. When they’re flirting outrageously enough with you that I take notice, I’d certainly say so.”

Quil wrings her hands, her tail twitching, curling and uncurling agitatedly around her ankle. “But they’re _married_.”

It’s part of why she came to talk to Valira, because Valira was there all that long year and heard Phi’s repeated insistence of the fact. It’s something clearly dearly won, and Quil is loath to damage that, accidentally or no.

“They’re _both_ flirting with you,” Valira points out, blunt but not unkind. “You can always just talk to them about it, you know, if it’s something you want to pursue.”

Quil makes a wavering noise. She _does_ want to, it’s just something new and fragile and Quil still feels she’s all too likely to set fragile things aflame, still fears the anger could explode from her skin in a wave of fire and magic.

Valira studies her, clearly catching the subtext, because Valira is much better at reading people than she generally gives herself credit for. Her mouth curves in a wry smile, and her eyes spark with something like mischief. “Besides, if you really wanted to be told otherwise, you would be speaking to Kithri, not me.”

“Valira!” Quil cries, because while she knows full well that Kithri would never _actually_ tell any of them to avoid romance if it was something they truly wanted, Valira has a point, because Kithri, even joking, would have offered Quil an out. Quil’s still roiling with uncertainty but… she feels better, and smiles back, lets her magic settle smoothly again. “Thank you.”

“Mm-hm,” Valira agrees, amused, and looks back down to her plants.

\--

It’s early enough in the day that there are few people wandering around when Phi sets out from the hold, wending her way to where the growing village edges its way up the road. The hold is growing too, and soon they’ll be fully integrated, something to look forward to. She’s looking forward to building a house of their own, separate from the keep, because while she loves her siblings, more space and more privacy would be a blessing.

Iain and Kal are luckier that way, have built a cottage at the edge of the village, right where the path turns to wander down into the border valley.

They aren’t home, which isn’t too surprising, but the back door is left unlocked. Kal is probably already up at the hold, since it should be one of his days to guard Gary. Iain is undoubtedly out gathering flowers and plants, and since the fire’s still going and there’s a floral-smelling pot simmering away, he’ll likely be back soon.

Phi takes a seat at the table and pulls out a notebook to pick up where her sketching left off, testing the shape of blades against the pattern she has in mind, waiting for the design to slot properly into place. There’s promise there, but it’s a problem enough to keep her occupied until Iain slips in the door, lighting up when he sees her.

“Phi!” he greets, setting aside his basket to go for a hug. “Good morning! Would you like some tea? What can I do for you today?”

“Hello, darling,” Phi says, hugging him tightly and pressing a kiss into his soft, loose curls. “You’re looking well. Tea would be great, thank you. Do you think you could help me with some flowers?”

Iain hums consideringly as he pours two cups of tea from the still-warm kettle and takes a seat across from her. “What kind of flowers?”

“Ones bees like and look good together, but no lavender,” she tells him, and watches his eyes brighten with delight as the pieces snap together.

“I like Quil, I’m glad,” he says, beaming at her. He’s happy and at ease, bright and gentle, and she’s so glad to see him thriving. “I’d be happy to.”

Phi smiles, feels it tilt a little wryly. “I’m glad you think so. You win the bet, then?”

“Oh, no, that’s Ronan,” Iain says like it’s obvious, which it is, because Ronan is _uncanny_ when it comes to their romantic lives. “Kal will be happy too; we all will be.”

There’s no rebuke in that, because Kal is one of her dearest friends, and they’re both much happier where they’ve ended up than the awkward half-dance of flirtation they had done initially. Still, she’s glad to hear it, and is glad her siblings love her and those she loves so much, even if they are gossipy and utterly ridiculous.

“Thanks, hon,” is all she says, and watches while Iain fetches seeds and soil and coaxes flowers from them, growing tall and thriving and vibrant, like all her hopes made form.

\--

Kithri comes back from visiting Sora and a detour through Erelest, loud and cheerful and half-pretending she’s not as delighted to see the others as they are to see her. Valira, Quil, and Phi hurry to greet her warmly before the four of them migrate to a favored courtyard.

Terry leaves them to it, knows he’ll have a chance to say hello to Kithri at dinner, but as he walks the walls, he can’t help looking down when he hears the sudden ringing laughter. He smiles at that, leans back against the stone and watches Kithri pass her flask to an amused Valira while Phi leans over to give the Halfling a one-armed hug and Quil, still giggling, rakes her hair back from her face.

He’s not on their level, but he’s a well-enough trained soldier that he hears the quiet approaching footsteps and glances over to see Ewhoza making his way closer.

He nods a greeting that’s cautiously returned, and Ewhoza stands beside him. The resurrected paladin is still an enigma, with a sharp disconnect between the arrogant, ruthless man Phi first wrote to him about and this quiet, shaken man struggling for redemption. Ewhoza looks better than he had, though, more substantial and finally used to the constant undercurrent of noise in the living realms.

“She’s been through a lot, you know,” Ewhoza says quietly, watching the women still happily catching up. He speaks like every statement requires carefully conserved energy, and Terry understands that, is willing to wait patiently for what he has to say and is grateful for the effort. “They all have. It was a lot harder than they like to let on.”

Terry has noticed that, has seen the acute discrepancy between Phi’s letters and what’s spoken in the quiet sanctuary of their rooms and the way she tells tales to her siblings. He knows she’s careful to respect the privacy of her companions too, and has no doubt he hasn’t heard the hardest parts of their journeys. But he knows that what Ewhoza is saying goes beyond that, touches the hard nights and the awkward, flat pauses during the days.

“I know,” he says, glad that all of them – but Quil in particular, because it’s Quil that Ewhoza doesn’t want to see hurt right now – have people who care for them. “Phi… things were hard for her too, even before all of this, and I learned to help as best I can. That’s all you can do. You don’t love someone because of what’s happened to them, but you don’t love them in spite of that, either. So I try my best, because they deserve it. But I think you understand that already.”

Ewhoza’s mouth curls sharply at that, dark amusement and self-rebuke, but there’s something soft in his eyes too. Terry’s good enough friends with Valira to know it isn’t one-sided, knows that they’re doing their own slow and careful dance. Besides, Valira would only have to let Kithri and Trilli keep at their efforts unimpeded if she wanted Ewhoza further away. But they watch one another with fondness and with care, and Terry wishes them all the joy of it once they get there.

“I do,” Ewhoza replies. Thoughtfully, quietly. He looks sidelong at Terry, and he smiles.

\--

Quil hardly knows what to do with so much affection.

They haven’t talked about it yet, but she’s almost glad, still trying to adjust to all of these _feelings_ , hot, bright, quicksilver bursts that leave her face burning, and slow, warm embers that sink into her like winter hearth fire.

Things are still normal, the comfortable conversations and easy camaraderie. Only now sometimes Phi brings her clusters of flowers that make her bees whirr with delight when she drops by Quil’s rooms, and sometimes when Terry sits with her outside on sleepless nights, their knees bump together and stay there.

Whenever Cordelia comes by next, she’s definitely going to notice.

Which is probably fine, because Wynne thinks Terry is wonderful, and Cordelia trusts her friends more or less implicitly, and Cordelia and Star both trot after Phi like ducklings, eager for her to patiently teach them more combat techniques. Cordelia will probably be delighted.

But apparently and unsurprisingly not the only one to notice, because Lanra takes the seat across from her one afternoon. It’s between meals, the hall otherwise empty, but the quiet seemed a good place for Quil to work on her letter to her mother. It’s nearly done, but she sets it aside all the same, trepidation viselike around her ribs.

She likes Lanra – he’s jovial, if loud, but a good drinking buddy and always happy to share stories of a younger Phi, who sounds like a joyful terror. He’s also Phi’s closest sibling and Terry’s best friend, and she can’t help but be a little intimidated when he sits down.

“Lanra,” she greets and tries for a smile. “Is this the hurt-them-and-I-hurt-you talk?”

He gives a short, sharp laugh, waving a hand. “Nah, friend. If anything, I would be giving them that talk about you, but you could handle them easily if this wasn’t something you wanted. Banish them to far-off planes and all that.”

Surprised, Quil laughs, touched by the sincerity in his words. They’ve been friendly and people here haven’t flinched from her at all, but Quil is so used to having to prove herself to everyone, still so used to being watched warily even by those who don’t outright spit at her, that she never would have guessed Lanra thought so highly of her or counted her so close, and this place feels a little more like home. It’s nice to know that someone would be on her side, for her sake.

And maybe if it were anyone else, Quil would be uncomfortable with the attention and the timing, but with Phi and Terry, she _knows_ they aren’t only interested now that her soul is housed in her body again, that there’s no titillated fascination with her Infernal heritage at play. They like Quil for being _Quil_ , and the flirtation and expression of interest is happening now because the world is finally safe and Quil no longer needs to fear for her family, because Quil is at a place where she can accept or reject them freely on her own terms. That knowledge glows in her breast like a coal, a warm and secret thing she keeps just for herself.

All the same, it means quite a bit, to know that someone outside her family – blood and forged over this last, long year – wants her happiness too.

“Thank you,” she says, and tries not to let the surge of emotion choke her. Her smile comes more easily this time. “Well, if not to give me dire warnings, what can I do for you today?”

His black eyes are intent as he studies her for a moment, and Quil almost thinks he means to make sure that she _is_ entirely comfortable with all of this, but then he smiles, crooked and endearing. “I was going to ask if you wanted to hear ridiculous stories about them getting together. I have _plenty_.”

It isn’t something Quil had thought about, but the thought _delights_ her.

“Oh, please!” She beams back at him, and settles in to listen.

\--

This is a negotiation that requires delicacy and Phi has never been delicate.

She doesn’t remember all of the conversations she had with Terry, but in her memory, her words are still raw and cut up at the edges, blunt with the exhaustion of toppling a terror that had dominated her life. Because he had been there, because he already knew Lanra’s scars, Phi had found space to spill out the secrets kept so close to her chest, but that had not been delicate. And Terry, darling Terry, knew full well he could be wounded but still freely offered his heart and its aching hurts out to her, vulnerable and trusting, and she has done all she can to let him keep that trust.

For all the practice Phi has had with words, the impromptu scrambling for diplomacy and tact in their travels, Phi doesn’t trust herself to find the right words. But she’ll try.

She doesn’t find Quil out with her bees or in her room, but sits beside her in the gardens, otherwise empty with Valira gone to visit her sheep and sharks and the girls all in one trip.

Quil has been courting them too, in her quiet way, in company and passing touches, in fragrant teas and laughter. She’s been quietly thoughtful the last few days, though, hesitant about something that Phi thinks is the tangled trouble of their pasts.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Phi says, the words awkward on her graceless tongue. “But is there something bothering you?”

“It’s silly,” Quil says, but her fingers are rubbing at the line of one of her horns and there’s a quiet furrow to her brow. “It’s just, I’ve never told you what my name was, before.”

“Ah.” Phi studies Quil, thinks she grasps what’s lying under her words. “Well, that’s alright.”

“Is it?” Quil asks, but it’s not defensive, just a little uncertain, her dark grey eyes soft and patient as she looks over at Phi. Her tail lies draped over her lap, at rest, just the end swaying back and forth.

Phi searches for the right thing to say, running her thumb over her bracelet, and Quil lets her think. Quil, it’s always Quil, never Tranquility.

“Phi’s not my birth name,” she says at last, and the rest of it flashes into coherence. “It’s Orcish, and Sobak gave it to me. There’s no gender attached to it. It means the rushes on the river, but it sounds like it could be a nickname, right? But Phillippa wasn’t my birth name, either. They’re both my names now, though. There are a lot of things that just don’t come up when we talk, and that may if the time is right. And some that probably won’t ever, because they’re still too close.”

She studies her hands, the old breaks in the bone and the scars knicking across the skin, and she’s so new at this, but she trusts Quil with her life and her soul, can trust Quil with her heart too.

“So please don’t feel like you’re obligated to tell us what your name used to be,” Phi continues, makes sure Quil can see the earnestness written on her features. “We’ll be honored if you ever want to, but…  We knew you as Quil and like you as Quil, and if you had another name before, that doesn’t make Quil any less intimate or any less precious. It’s not names, or secrets, it’s just… _you_.”

Phi can barely hold her face still, can’t recall how she ever managed to be easily charming, because she wants _so badly_ for Quil to understand how well Phi esteems her, to know how bright and dazzling she is. She’s dizzyingly wonderful, clever and sharp and so _angry_ and cares _so much_ , and Phi adores her helplessly.

“Thank you,” Quil says, soft and a little breathless, and her hand comes to cover Phi’s, and they sit like that for a long time.

\--

In the end, the three of them retreat to Phi and Terry’s rooms because though no one says anything, they’re all keenly aware of the quiet hum of attention.

Terry is unsure, at first, if Quil will take them up on the offer, but she just smiles and follows behind, flask in hand.

He listens to Quil and Phi snicker quietly over some reminiscence as he builds up the fire just enough for warmth and lights candles. When he makes his way to the nest of cushions that provide an informal seating area, they’re leaning against one another, still shaking with laughter.

“What am I missing this time?” he asks, amused.

Phi’s smile only grows, free and easy and teasing, and she curves her hand over Quil’s shoulder affectionately, the way she wouldn’t if she were teasing a friend. “The myconids.”

“It was the most comfy Some Hole franchise ever,” Quil tells him, waving for Terry to sit down too. “Phi doesn’t believe me because she was busy being responsible.”

Terry laughs, folding himself down on the floor. “It sounds like her loss.”

“I just have to wonder what it would have been like to be there when the beholder dropped in,” Phi drawls, reaching up to pull out her hair pins, letting her braid tumble down her back, untied end already starting to unravel.

“Now _that_ would make a good drinking story,” Terry agrees. He’s full of awe and respect for these women, who talk about beholders and krakens so casually and who slayed a god’s mortal form, but there’s a sick strike of fear there too. They strayed so close to death and oblivion so many times, and there would have been nothing to help it. They’re nearly gods themselves, now, if near-gods who long for peace and gardens and the comforts of home.

He’s lucky to know them.

He’s lucky to know Phi, who set out to look for kindness in the world and ended up saving it, who wields power nearly beyond comprehension and still yelps when Tomas ruffles her hair. He’s lucky to know Quil, too, with her simmering anger and fierce convictions and her spontaneous levitation and abruptly appearing unicorns, whose expression breaks open with relief and adoration every time Cordelia throws her arms around her in greeting.

Phi smiles at him, soft and quiet, like she knows what he’s thinking, and he smiles back helplessly even as he reaches absently and automatically for her hairbrush, discarded on a side table this morning.

He’s content to listen while Phi and Quil banter about which of their enemies and allies would be the most ridiculous under the influence of myconid spores, undoing Phi’s braid and slowly brushing out her thick mess of hair.

It’s only once he’s gotten all the tangles out that he realizes the conversation has lulled and Quil’s watching them with something between hushed want and affectionate amusement.

“I can do yours too, if you’d like,” Terry offers, and Phi kisses his jaw before she moves aside.

Quil hesitates another fraction of a second but then shifts over, sweeping her hair back over her shoulders as she settles back in. The motion must be habitual, because the handful of bees that accompany her even now alight on the curves of her horns where no one will accidentally bump into them.

Gently, carefully, Terry gathers Quil’s hair back, and begins brushing at the bottom; she wears it loose, and for all the wave, it doesn’t seem to tangle as readily as Phi’s hair or even his own. Still, he’s careful not to tug, deeply aware that this is a gesture of trust.

Phi’s hand settles on Quil’s knee even as she starts to tell them about the latest letter from Lauren, and Quil’s shoulders settle over the next minutes, the ever-present wary tension easing in the warm, comfortable dim.

Terry watches the firelight flicker over their faces, warm and illuminating, and feels unbearably fond.

\--

The kitchens are still dark and quiet when Quil slips inside. It’s a pleasant, cool sort of quiet, though, peaceful as she builds the fire back up and opens the windows for light. The grass outside is still beaded with dew, the promise of a storm later today building the ambient humidity.

It reminds her a little of her meadow full of bees and her isolated, tranquil cottage, back before their adventuring.

And for all that she occasionally misses the silence, she hardly ever feels lonely now, can relish the constant hum of people around her.

Quil hums to herself as she gathers together her ingredients, making sure the oven will be hot enough by the time she whisks up a quick dough.

“It’s not often that I get here after anyone else,” Kithri says from the doorway, sounding amused. She’s still looking well, better and better as the months draw them further away from the hectic pain of their ordeals, with Torrin perched on her shoulder and her mouth curved in a genuine smile. “Following in my footsteps, young’un?”

That makes Quil laugh, waving for Kithri to join her. “No pies from me, sorry. I’m making buns. There’s some tea, though.”

Kithri grunts an affirmative sound, pouring herself a cup and topping off Quil’s as well. “Going courting with your baked goods?”

Quil’s glad that it’s hard for people to tell when she’s blushing, though Kithri knows her well enough to tell she’s flustered anyway. She tosses another handful of flour into her bowl, the dough not quite coherent enough to pull away from the sides. “I guess.”

She is, though. She is because she likes the way Phi’s intent eyes soften when they talk and the way her smile dimples around her tusks, because she likes the calloused brush of Terry’s fingertips when he brushes hair back behind her ear and the way he looks at Quil like she’s the sunrise, and she wants the teasing jokes and morning laughter and to lean into this lovely _something_ they’re at the edges of.

But Kithri just watches her, sitting on the heavy wooden table and drinking her tea while Quil works. She’s quiet, which can be either a good sign or a bad one, but Quil is fairly sure that it’s not the latter today.

“I have to admit, it’s not where I thought things would go,” Kithri finally says, sounding fond and a little wistful. For all her exuberance, there’s a deep sense of loss and longing around her, and Quil’s aware that there are people Kithri sorely misses. “But it seems like you kids are good about using your words.”

“We try,” Quil says softly, preparing herself for some kind but blunt words about age differences or unbalanced relationships or simply having _time_. Kithri just smiles.

“Good,” she says, sounding satisfied. A beat, and then: “Are you planning to brush those with more honey?”

\--

“I have something for you,” Phi says, when the three of them are out on the roof of the hold.

There’s a hatch that’s carefully propped open, and Phi’s bribed Edwin into keeping any and all interfering siblings away, because Eddie is a good kid. It’s a warm day, with enough of a breeze up here to keep everything temperate. There are wispy clouds drifting their slow procession across the sky, but it’s clear enough that they can see the distant shapes of people walking between the hold and the village, and a handful of people taking advantage of the training grounds.

“You didn’t have to,” Quil says even as she sits up and looks over. She’s barely disheveled, hardly ruffled at all despite the fact she joined them straight from demonstrating some of her more devastating spells for Allan’s benefit – “Tiefling solidarity,” Allan had said with the bright flash of a smile, blue-black eyes warm and approving, as good an endorsement as any he could give.

“No, but I wanted to.” Phi shrugs, reaches into her pocket for the slim wooden case, offering it out to Quil with an anticipatory flutter. Terry, who knows what she has up her sleeve, smiles, propping his chin on the curve of his hand as he watches.

Quil gives her a sharply curious glance, but accepts the box and opens it. It’s difficult to tell what her first impression is, but she seems pleased, smiling faintly as she plucks the elegantly curved dagger out and pulls it from its sheath. Her fingertips trace the edge of it, brush over the faint floral etching at the base of the spine, the bee-and-leaf motif engraved along the guard and the pommel, the flourishes that very closely match the details of her signet. The design is nothing overwrought, nothing that would detract from the effectiveness of the blade.

It matches the second knife of the set, rounder and with a blunter blade, better for gathering flowers or herbs than for fighting. Phi means to commission something similar as a winter solstice gift for Valira, but this is different.

Terry, unable to quite hide his smile, leans over until his arm brushes Quil’s. “Now, what Phi won’t say without prompting is that she designed and commissioned it.”

Phi feels her face turning red, still faintly embarrassed about sharing her artistic endeavors with others.

Quil’s face, already scrunched with emotion, crumples further, eyes wide as she looks up at Phi. “Phi!”

“I wanted to,” Phi repeats, shrugging awkwardly. She still has her many drafts, tucked into her notebook again. “I know you aren’t much for weapons, but… I wanted you to have something nice. I hope it’s alright.”

“It’s _lovely_ ,” Quil insists, sincere and clearly touched. “ _Thank you_.”

And even though Terry had been just as emotional about his axe, had nearly cried for the effort and care she’d put into it and buried his face helplessly in her shoulder at the time, Phi still hadn’t expected such a response and blushes even darker still.

Eventually, Quil returns the dagger to its sheath and closes the box, though she keeps it tightly clutched between her hands. She’s still smiling, running her thumb over the edge of the wood as she leans a little into Terry next to her. And oh, it leaves Phi’s heart tripping over itself to see Quil smiling like that, confident and settled without the edge of stress and worry that haunted it all throughout their year-long journey.

“Are you sure about this?” Quil asks at length, looking up at Terry and the over to Phi, speaking clearly even though Phi knows, now, how Quil longs for security and steady things, fears losing all the small and precious things she’s gained.

“We are,” Phi says, fixed and solid as she can make herself sound. She doesn’t chose things lightly, and she wants this, wants them, wants to make this work.

And Terry, gentle Terry with his dark hair and scattered scars, who is more inclined to laughter than solemnity, meets Quil’s eyes.

“We really are,” he agrees, and offers her his hand, open and easy. “Are you?”

Quil places her hand in his, twines their fingers, even though there’s still a faint crease between her eyebrows. “I am. But you’re married, and I don’t want to…”

“You won’t,” Phi says, sure of it. She moves closer, rests her hand on the nape of Quil’s neck. “We have _so much time_ to learn one another, to figure this out. And if it comes to that point, it’s not as if there are only two bracelets in the entire world.”

That makes Quil laugh, her hand tightening on Terry’s even as she relaxes back into Phi’s touch. It’s a lovely sound.

“Alright,” Quil says, and turns toward Phi, reaching up to cup her jaw in her free hand. She grins, bashful and delighted both, and leans in, slowly enough that Phi could pull away if she wanted.

But Phi doesn’t, lets Quil pull her in for a kiss, and this Phi knows how to do, soft and lingering and full of want and affection. She kisses Quil until there’s no doubt that either of them like this, want this, _have_ wanted this, and she rests their foreheads together for a moment after they finally break apart.

Quil, cheeks faintly flushed, beams at Phi, and kisses her again before turning to kiss Terry too.

\--

The border valley is vibrant, clover and heather blooming up along its sloping sides.

From here, the village is hidden, and even Fairpoint Hold proper is an outcropping of purple shadowed stone. The valley isn’t as sheltered as the forests north of them, but it feels isolated and serene all the same, like some stolen stretch of solitude.

Terry sighs and sprawls back on his elbows, studying the shape of the clouds overhead.

It was a long night for all of them, one of the ones where he’d not have slept even if he hadn’t realized it was filled with ill memories for the others, too. Phi’d muttered something about the Abyss, and Terry hadn’t needed to ask more than that, just tried to offer company or companionship or something other than the dark.

So today, he’d let Phi pull him and Quil down and out into the meadow stretching wide around them, and already, he breathes a little easier.

Quil’s slender fingers slide into his black hair, and Terry glances up at her. The circles under her eyes are darker than usual, but her eyes are warm and her hands are gentle.

And Quil isn’t prone to melodrama, but she’s said it before, that she had been so sure everything she touched would burn, because it always seemed to. It was said with the aching hurt of bruised bone as much as the quiet self-assurance that _now_ she trusted her hands and her magic and her fire. But it wasn’t so very long ago that she didn’t.

She’s touching him with steady hands, looking at him with a sort of adoration that makes him breathless.

“Hi,” Terry says, any pretensions of reserve melted away by that awe-striking touch.

“Hi,” Quil replies, laughing and easy, and her face softens still further when he catches her hand in his, presses an idle kiss to her palm.

“Claiming your share of time before the girls sweep in next week?” he asks, unable to keep the thread of laughter from his voice.

Even after a night of hard memories and restless quiet, he’s looking forward to their visitors. He hasn’t yet told Quil that she’s going to be the subject of Trilli’s epic ballad, though he’s looking forward to her face when someone lets that slip. Besides, Cordelia asked him to show her how to wield an axe the next time she came by, and Terry’s admittedly very flattered, because Phi is just as proficient with other blades for all she prefers swords. Not to mention Wynne, his clumsy mentee of a rogue, who he still can’t keep from worrying about, for all that she’s becoming more confident in her skills.

“Not yet.” Quil’s smile grows, her tail furling and unfurling in contentment. One of her bees flits back from its exploration of the flowers and settles on the tip of her horn. “This is just because it’s nice.”

“The very best reason,” Terry agrees solemnly, and isn’t surprised to hear Phi’s quiet huff of laughter at that.

She doesn’t look up from her papers, sketching idly, which means she’s just as at ease as they are, and her knee is pressed against Quil’s thigh, her hair hanging loose around her face and shoulders.

Terry just stretches out his free hand and curves it around Phi’s ankle, which makes her glance up at him, blue-grey eyes etched with a deep and familiar love, direct and unhidden. She smiles at him, then leans over to kiss Quil’s cheek, casually affectionate.

Quil returns the gesture, and they look at one another with such open gentleness and surety that Terry can’t bear to look away, suffused with bright happiness.

\--

The windows are already shuttered, hiding the night sky and its bright wreath of stars, and the small fire is dying down, soon to be embers and ashes. Even Quil’s bees have left her for the night, making their slow way to their hives to sleep. It’s late, then, dinner long over and all their glasses run dry in the wake of quiet conversation and laughter.

For all the time Quil’s spent in Phi and Terry’s rooms these last few weeks, even more than she used to, she hasn’t slipped back into the habit of staying in their spare bedroom. She uncrosses her legs, braces a hand on her knee for balance while her hoof gets traction on the floor.

“I should call it a night,” she tells them, not without regret, and gets to her feet, absently shaking her robes back into place. She hides a yawn in her sleeve, blinking back tiredness.

Phi rises too, easy and unimposing in her own home, smiling softly around her tusks. “Would you like to stay the night?”

“I mean, I could,” Quil says, figuring that she’s slept in the spare room often enough that it’s not a disruption, thinking that she’s missed being able to stumble out to breakfast and affectionate banter.

Terry’s brown eyes are soft and almost hopeful, darker than usual in the low light. “With us?”

Quil blinks, taken aback, and flushes. They’ve talked about sex, because practicalities and expectations need discussing, and they’ve decided there’s no need to rush into things, because things will happen when they do. So it’s not that she takes it for a proposition, not yet at any rate, though the prospect makes her heart race.

The thought of sharing a bed, even just for sleep, not for warmth or protection but for _comfort_ , for _intimacy_ , is nearly as overpowering.

“Yes,” Quil says, and follows them into their bedroom.

She’s never been in before, but the moon and the low glow of the candles Phi lights are good enough for Quil to make out most of it clearly, though she looks forward to seeing it in the proper light of the morning. Small, still, but cozy and comfortable, and the bed looks as inviting and warm as any she’s seen.

Quil has lived at the hold long enough to recognize the quilt spread across the bed as Len’s work, a labor of love that’s all bright colors and small, even stitching. She lets her fingers trace the edges of a piece, glances up to see Phi watching her with a faint, pleased smile – because Phi is always taken aback when people see to the heart of things that matter to her.

“It’s lovely,” Quil murmurs, and reaches out to touch Phi’s elbow.

“As are you,” Phi replies, half flirtatious, half quiet sincerity, undoing her ponytail and starting to braid her hair for sleep.

It’s tempting to find a clever reply, but Quil thinks Phi reads Quil’s answering appreciation in her face, because her cheeks tint darker as she looks away with a hint of a grin. Quil, satisfied, strips down to her chemise and, when Terry’s fingers brush her shoulder in a silent offer, lets him braid her hair back with careful, sure hands.

Phi turns down the covers but doesn’t slide between them, holding her palm out in open invitation. For a moment, Quil wonders if she should decline the center spot, doesn’t know how well she sleeps with others, but in all honesty, even if she kicks, she’s not sure her hooves would do much damage to either of them, and though she’s no longer so desperately, achingly alone, the thought of being surrounded by warmth is irresistible.

Quil steals a kiss before she climbs into bed, heart still a little too fast, but it’s the same butterfly quivering that built up before she kissed either of them.

Terry slips in beside her, propping himself up on one elbow as he studies her, something a little anxious to the set of his face as he tries to make sure she’s comfortable, even though his smile doesn’t waver, cautious and kind.

She’s too sure of herself to be truly bashful, so Quil cups her hand around his upper arm and guides him close enough that she can kiss him, slow and certain and _happy_. Terry looks at her like she’s hung all the heavens, sweetly adoring and blooming with it, the same way he looks at Phi, and Quil’s heart is so, so full.

In the interest of fairness, Quil turns to kiss Phi too, but Phi beats her to it, fingers ghosting the line of Quil’s jaw as she kisses her, firmer but no less sweetly, and Quil melts into that matchless attention, almost dizzy with it when Phi finally pulls back. She’s still blinking her way back to normal as Terry leans over to kiss Phi, the two of them seamless and easy with long practice.

They trade more kisses, all three of them, as they shift and settle, maneuvering into an arrangement that will be comfortable for each of them, Quil careful of her horns and tail.

It’s secure and comforting to be settled in between two people who look at her with nothing but faith and fondness. She’s already drowsy, lulled by all the shared warmth and faint cedar scent of the covers, trust wearing away her sharply honed awareness.

All of these things Quil never dreamed she could have, these two people who love her so openly, and she loves them too.

It’s like magic, golden and effervescent in her chest, something overwhelming and wondrous rather than something to fear, as deep and pressing as the strange reaches of the ocean floor, and she’s sure it will be just as strong when she wakes in the morning.

\--


End file.
